


Control

by say_lene



Series: She Bleeds Chaos [4]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-Star Wars: The Old Republic - The Nathema Conspiracy, Self-Hatred, sort of hurt/comfort but its sort of hard to tell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 17:47:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18473959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/say_lene/pseuds/say_lene
Summary: Whatever else she is, she'll always be Sith. The dark side rolls over her in tenebrous, velvety waves, too beautiful to turn from and too powerful to hide. She's a killer. She's a tyrant. She's everything Theron told her she was, back there on that Umbaran train.





	Control

Her hands don't shake when they reach for him, but they want to - so she splays them across his stomach, where they're in no danger of betraying her. She can feel him breathing beneath her, and his shirt is coarse against her skin. Cheap.

Real.

"Can I touch you?" Theron's voice is scratchy as well, like he's forgotten how to talk to her. His lips are close enough to bite.

"Not yet."

Jenevre lifts one palm to slide it up his arm. Theron shivers, goose bumps rising above his collar. Time was, she'd have leaned in to kiss them. She'd have turned the universe inside-out in a matter of minutes - but now, her ribs are strung with quivering ropes. He's shot at her more recently than he's touched her.

She wonders if things will ever be like they were.

"I love you so much." When he talks like that, all low and taut-string earnest, Jenevre wants to cry. His eyes are full of stars, and they're ringed by purple shadows.

Abrupt, she lifts the hand on his shoulder. She's not sure what she's going to do with it until she's already cupping his jaw, tilting his chin upward like she's about to inspect his stubble. He tries to watch her from the awkward angle, eyelashes fluttering over bruised cheekbones.

"I know, darling." And she does. If she didn't believe him, she'd never have brought him back here: not to the Alliance, not to Odessen, and definitely not to her bed. But lingering there in the dark space at the bottom of her brain -

There's doubt.

She wants to turn back time. She wants to scream. She wants to pretend that none of it ever happened.

But she leans in closer instead, ghosting her lips along the bottom of his jaw. On his sharp intake of breath, she bites - and Theron lets out a strangled moan.

Whatever else she is, she'll always be Sith. The dark side rolls over her in tenebrous, velvety waves, too beautiful to turn from and too powerful to hide. She's a killer. She's a tyrant. She's everything Theron told her she was, back there on that Umbaran train.

So she releases him and leans away. Theron blinks, shifting as if to pull her back again, but he catches himself a heartbeat later. Immobilized by worry and want, he gazes at her like the air between them is a dozen parsecs wide. Still starry-eyed. Still bruised.

He doesn't say it again, but she can hear it anyway.

"Say my name, Theron."

The words hang there for a moment, unsoftened by the silence that follows. Theron doesn't move. He hardly breathes.

"Jenevre."

How does he make her feel so weak? Reaching down to find one of his hands, she twines her fingers through his. Her pulse is like a drumbeat, pounding in every extremity.

"And the other."

This one comes out crooked, like his chapped lips weren't meant to form the word. "Imperius."

She moves in close again; close enough for her breath to tickle his neck. He's trembling, just slightly, like his skin is a conductor in a circuit now complete. She presses her lips to the hinge of his jaw.

Her passions are no help here. Desire, fear, rage: they've been warring within her for weeks, each in conflict with the others. She wants him helpless, safe, and dead - all at once.

She's afraid.

She butts her forehead up against his, tangling her free hand in his hair. Their noses bump together and their shaky breaths mingle, and she stares into his eyes like she might see into his soul.

That's what she needs. To lay him bare like a dissected specimen; to peel back his skin and open every vein. She needs to see him bleed and _feel it_ , down to the bottom of the hollows in her head. But she can't.

Because he's made her love him, too.

Still gripping his hair, she takes him by the wrist. She places his palm against her throat, but his eyes are uncomprehending.

"Squeeze."

"What?"

"Do it."

Zash. Thanaton. Koth, SCORPIO, Valkorion - all those who had betrayed her would have killed for this chance. She can picture each of them sitting there beneath her, grasping fingers crushing her windpipe.

But Theron loves her.

"Your father is dead because of me." The look on Theron's face makes her insides feel hollow, but there's no stopping now. "If Satele isn't dead already, she will be soon - and I can say with certainty that I will be involved."

Theron tries to pull away. "This isn't funny."

"I'm a creature of the dark side." She keeps his hand in place, implacable as cortosis. "Eternal Fleet or no, I will murder and I will maim, just as I have done countless times before. I will crush the Republic and obliterate the Jedi. No one you have ever known is safe."

That last one is a lie. She would do anything, spare anyone he asked her to - but that doesn't matter.

"You want to protect people. To love me is the antithesis of that."

The anguish in his eyes confirms it. "Jen -"

She lets him go, but his palm lingers. "So do it."

She hasn't quite worked out what will happen when it starts to get dark. Maybe fear will give her that kick she needs to kill him - but she doesn't think it's likely.

He doesn't do it. His starry eyes are horrified. "You're better than that."

"Don't delude yourself, Theron."

"You didn't kill Malcom - he did that to himself. And you spared Arcann!"

"Only because Valkorion wanted me to kill him."

The palm on her throat pulls away. Theron wraps his arms around her waist instead, hands interlocking over the small of her back. "Then there was the Sixth Line, on Ziost. Master Surro."

She doesn't have anything to say to that. The hairs on the back of her neck are standing up. If he realizes the extent of his power over her, then why -

"But it doesn't matter." His voice goes quiet. "I knew what I was getting into. Every step of the way."

And he kisses her. Her lips, first, stealing away the little breath she has left - then her neck, exactly where she'd placed his hand. Jenevre squeezes her eyes shut, because it's the only way to hold back panic. She's all out of ideas.

She can't control him.

"You're never there for the worst parts." She whispers it at the ceiling as he kisses his way down the front of her robes.

"Or do the bad bits just not happen when I'm there?" His voice is muffled by fabric. "Maybe you should keep me around all the time."

The panic sharpens like a tightening vice. She tugs on his hair until he's at eye-level again, wincing at the sting. She doesn't know how to deal with this. All her other lovers have been as crazy as her.

"Everyone has a breaking point, Theron. What's it going to take to make you leave?"

He doesn't flinch. "I won't. Ever."

"You're not listening to me. Everyone -"

He cuts her off with another kiss. Jenevre doesn't fight it; rather, she sinks into it, folding her arms around his neck. She wants to keep him here forever. She wants it all to end.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to find the space for words. "I'm telling you - do your worst. No matter what happens, I'll be here. Keeping it from getting too ugly."

Jenevre turns her head to catch his next kiss on her cheek. She's helpless, safe, and dead, all at once.

"You're going to regret that, one day. You're going to wish you never met me."

He looks at her so sadly, then. Of all the things she's said tonight, _that's_ what makes him hurt?

"I'm willing to take the risk."


End file.
